


That Coffee Fix

by sahbeL



Series: The Coffee Fix Series [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, April Showers 2015, April Showers Challenge, Derek Has Feelings, Derek-centric, F/M, Fix-It, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Derek Hale, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahbeL/pseuds/sahbeL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Cora decide to lay low in New York and he meets a girl that intrigues him who’s covered in tattoos and has warm hazel eyes. </p><p>(Takes place at the end of 3A after Cora and Derek leave Beacon Hills.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Coffee Fix

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on FFNet and now I'm posting this here for the April Showers 2015 Challenge. It's pretty much AU after 3A because I wrote it before 3B. 
> 
> Basically I just really felt like writing a simple, warm, Derek x OFC fic, where Derek falls for a "normal" or seemingly normal girl, haha. And also I really hated what Jennifer did to him, so writing this fic was pretty cathartic to my how-could-she-do-that feels and I just really wanted Derek to feel good, haha. 
> 
> This is none beta'd so all mistakes are mine as always. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the OFC.

Right from the start he’s been intrigued by her ballsy attitude. The way she looks at him with a challenge in her eyes that no other human would dare lay on him. From the moment of their unconventional meeting – him wolfing out in an alleyway after saving her from what could’ve been a fatal mugging – her, _not_ cowering in fear and huffing a small, disbelieving laugh at him instead –she’s always been straight up and completely genuine.  
  
At first it was just small run-ins at the local coffee shop… _Who knew he and Cora would pick a loft just around the block from her apartment?_  
  
  
He’s standing by the window at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, coffee in hand, when he senses a presence beside him, eyes on his face. He looks to the side at about chest level and sees a mop of unruly, dark hair, fair skin, a small nose and hazel eyes.  
  
“You.”  
  
“Me.” He replies.

He’s trying to decide on what kind of damage control he’s going to have to lay on her when she points a lazy finger at him. “The wolf man.”  
  
He chokes and almost spits out the coffee he’d just sipped. “Jesus, any louder?”  
  
She’s in sweatpants and a pink tank top, tattoo sleeve prominent on her left arm and some sort of elegant script lacing her collarbones. Her hair doesn’t particularly look like it’s been brushed, and she’s just looking at him like he’s some normal person. He likes that even though it’s not the hour for sweatpants, she’s totally walking around in them. He likes that she’s looking at him like he’s just another guy, even though he’s pretty sure she saw him with fangs and claws just a few nights ago.  
  
She doesn’t answer his question. Asks him one of her own instead.  
  
“Are you following me?”  
  
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline (and that doesn’t happen very often) because for the _second_ _time in five minutes_ this completely human girl manages to make his heart jump and surprise him.

She’s still staring at him, dropping the arm she’d pointed with as she cocks a hip to the side and sips her coffee, eyes still on his face, waiting for an answer.  
  
He shakes his head with disbelief, straightens to his full height (the top of her head barely reaches his shoulder) and faces her. He finds himself trying hard not to plant her with the full power of his wolf’s gaze and suppresses his sudden instinct to let her know that he’s an alpha – or, _had been_ an until –

“I live around the block,” he spits out, mouth pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.  
  
They watch each other for another minute before she blinks and shoots him a small smirk. “Relax, grumpy. I was only playing.” She rolls her eyes and reaches around him to grab a napkin from the dispenser by the window.  
  
“I live around the block too,” she adds as she saunters past him towards the door. “So I guess I’ll see you around again. Try smiling next time.” She throws over her shoulder, before disappearing out the door.  
  
And he’s left standing in the coffee shop still trying to make sense of what just happened. _  
  
_ \-- _  
_  
It’s probably two months or so after they leave Beacon Hills that Cora finally gets sick of him brooding all over the loft. Every time she passes him in the lounge or in the kitchen, her eyes roll with exasperation until she finally snaps and kicks him out for the night. Makes him find somewhere else to _brood or whatever._  
  
He’s been strolling around the busy city for the better part of an hour without really having much sense of where he is, when he comes across a club called –as cliché as it sounds – _Wolfsbane.  
  
_ Jesus, his life’s become ironic. _  
_  
The music inside is fast and commercial, sort of electric and sort of trance. It’s too bubbly for his liking, but he finds himself stepping up behind the few bodies in the line anyway. When he gets inside it’s bigger than he pictured and fuller than the line out front had led him to believe. He avoids looking directly into the lasers and heads straight for the bar. There’s a second level full of ‘watchers’ and several couples making out. He didn’t particularly feel like brooding from up high so he decides to stay by the bar; pans his gaze over the dance floor; stretches his senses until he smells the sweat of the bodies writhing in the centre of the club; hears a dozen different heartbeats all at once, and goes deaf from the bass of the music.  
  
He’s just finishing off his fifth bourbon and coke – his supernaturally inclined body making sure that he’s almost as sober as when he’d walked in an hour ago – when the lights in the club change for a second and spotlights illuminate two sections of the stage. He watches two dancers step gracefully up to their respective podiums. Both are in scantily clad outfits. One is wearing purple fluffy tassels but it’s the other dancer that makes him glad he’s not sipping his sixth bourbon and coke.

Her costume looks like a black two piece bikini. She’s wearing knee high boots and some sort of thick, fur-lined hood pulled low over her face. _No way,_ he thinks to himself, eyebrows pulling low into an irritated frown. They might be in a room full of people right now, but his sense of smell makes him feel like he’s back at the coffee shop. She’s too far away but it doesn’t stop him from picking up the slight whiff of hazelnut in the air. It makes him wonder if she works the bar he’s leaning against when she’s not on the podium swaying her hips and arching her back like she’s been doing it for way too long.  
  
He can’t really see her face, and he almost comes to the conclusion that she doesn’t enjoy what she’s doing, but then her hood falls away from her face during her next hair flip, and he sees her flash an absently seductive smile. Her pink tongue flashes out and strokes the edges of her top teeth slowly. She sways her hips and pushes her arms straight out in front of her, swipes them outwards so they end up spread out on either side of her, and it looks like a sexy crucifixion. His lips twitch slightly at the morbid analogy.  
  
_And when the fuck did he start thinking in analogies anyway?  
  
_ He brings his drink up to his mouth for a sip, watches her move fluidly to the music. He can see that she enjoys it. Loves the way she can switch from seductive hair flips and body rolls, to calculated dance moves with sharp angles and shapes. He watches her the whole time she’s on the podium. Sees her feistiness even from where he’s standing. Unlike the other dancer (and dancers he’d seen before), she doesn’t prolong eye contact with the opposite sex. He likes that she’s not bitchy or conceited. She smiles when she makes eye contact with someone in the crowd, even breaks up a fight once or twice and sticks up for the _right_ guy. He watches her reassure the one being wrongly accused – pausing in her dance and bending over to the guy – signalling that _it’s okay, I’m watching_ , as she points two fingers at her eyes and then points it at the scrawny looking kid getting picked on. Then she re-assumes her routine, arms going up over her head and running down her shoulders and chest. But Derek can see that her eyes are alert and watching the most-likely inebriated bunch by her podium. He likes that.  
  
By the time the next go-go dancer taps her on the shoulder to signal a changeover, he’s honed in on her so sharply that he can smell the slight tang of her sweat mixed with her hazelnut latte, (which explains the 2 o’clock coffee runs, by the way). And is that…cherry blossom?  
  
She steps down from the podium, momentarily slips out of his line of sight. He decides that this would probably be the best time to take a bathroom break, and maybe shake off his sudden creeper vibe towards this random girl.  
  
When he steps back up to the bar and signals the bartender for another drink, he’s momentarily paralysed by the eyes he feels on the back of his neck. He doesn’t know if she knows about werewolves having heightened senses, but for some reason she doesn’t bother raising her voice over the music. Like she knows he’d hear her loud and clear.  
  
“Are you sure you’re not following me?” There’s no malice in her voice. Just a playful singsong lilt as he turns to look at her.  
  
She’s covered up her costume with a black slip dress that falls just past mid-thigh. The thick fur-lined hood has disappeared and her hair falls messily around her face. He has a feeling that she doesn’t spend much time brushing it and he likes that about her too. He lets his eyes wander, takes note of the grey and black compass inked on her upper left arm and the silhouettes of flying birds.  
  
“This place is called _Wolfsbane,_ ” he returns, keeping his face neutral. He doesn’t let on that she’s made his heart pick up a few paces and that he’s actually not feeling as grumpy as he’s trying to look.  
  
“Yeah, so?”  
  
“So, I’m guessing I’m probably not the first of my kind that you’ve come across,” he replies.  
  
She’s unfazed. He doesn’t even detect an elevation in her heart rate as he calls her out on her _not-so-secret_ secret. She rolls her eyes at him and he resists the urge to make her take back that feistiness.  
  
He likes that she’s not afraid.  
  
“I’m not gonna rat you out, if that’s what you mean,” she replies, has the gall to shoot him an offended look. “Did you actually follow me here to kill me or something? Coz you _saved_ my life. If anything, I’m indebted to _you_.”  
  
He levels her with an intense stare. He can tell by her heartbeat that she’s not lying, there’s a lack of nervousness in the smell of her sweat. Slowly, he relaxes. Leans an elbow back on the bar and watches as she finally steps up beside him. Her scent hits him like a freight train and it takes almost all his willpower not to close his eyes and inhale the mix of hazelnut and cherry blossoms.  
  
“So…” this is the first time he sees her hesitate for a bit before she continues on, “…can I know your name now, or are you sticking to the Grumpy-Almost-Stranger-Wolf-Man vibe you keep giving me?”  
  
This time _he’s_ rolling his eyes at her, “I didn’t follow you here.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I was just in the area.”  
  
“And I was just at work,” she replies.  
  
“And I didn’t know you worked here.”  
  
“And now you do,” she throws back.  
  
“ _Not_ that it means I’ll be coming back.”  
  
“Why not? You didn’t like it?!” there it was again, that offended feistiness that drew out his wolf. He resists flashing his eyes at her.  
  
“That’s not what I meant.”  
  
“So, you _did_ like it?”  
  
“That’s not what I meant either.”  
  
“So what _did_ you mean?”  
  
He clamps his mouth shut and looks up at the dark ceiling above them. He ignores the lasers and prays for patience.  
  
She’s still waiting for an answer when he turns his gaze back to her.  
  
“It’s Derek.”  
  
“What?”  
  
He almost smiles at the way her nose wrinkles in confusion. “You wanted to know my name. It’s Derek.”  
  
She makes an O shape with her mouth and tests out his name.  
  
“Derek.”  
  
He doesn’t let himself dwell on how much he likes the sound of his name on her lips. Focuses on the way her hair frames her face and the heartbeat pounding just under her breastbone. He tries to read the fine script outlining her collarbones but even with wolf eyes the club is too dark, the lights are flashing too much and the script is too small.  
  
She notices him noticing her but doesn’t fidget or giggle like other girls. Instead, she stands still – only moves to cross her arms as she waits for him to finish his perusal. She doesn’t even call him out on the fact that he’s pretty much openly ogling her.  
  
“And I’m Leslie, by the way. Just in case you were wondering.” She murmurs in amusement, hip cocked to one side and shoulders shrugging once in mock bravado.  
  
He smells her amusement and blushes. _Fucking blushes, goddammit!  
  
_ “Leslie.” He repeats, his low voice drowned out by the club’s music. He knows she doesn’t hear him by the way her eyes flick down to watch his lips.  
  
He likes that she doesn’t ask for much else. Likes that he hasn’t been able to predict what she’s about to say every time she’s moved to speak so far.  
  
He tries not to focus too much on the warmth that blooms in his heart when she flashes him a small, dimpled smile.  

 _  
  
_ After that, the coffee shop pretty much becomes his new favourite place. Not that he actually has favourite places, but if he did, well.  
  
He and Cora are still spending their days laying low so he pretty much doesn’t have any use for his phone (even though he still checks it once in a while). For the most part though, he and Cora are doing a pretty good job of pretending like they don’t exist.  
  
He tells himself it’s just boredom that makes him suddenly want to go get coffee every afternoon. That leaving the house for a while every day is actually keeping Cora off _his_ back about _brooding all over the loft._  
  
Deep down though, he knows he’s lying to himself. But Derek doesn’t feel like examining his psyche in that way just yet. Doesn’t want to start comparing Leslie to Jennifer to see if there are any similarities. If he lets himself, then this whole thing would explode into one big angst-fest. And he doesn’t quite want the easiness and unpredictability of Leslie to disappear just yet. He likes the distraction of her.  
  
She comes in for her coffee fix everyday like clockwork. _Around_ the same time. Because she doesn’t actually come in at the _exact_ _same time_ every day. Sometimes she stumbles in at around one thirty in the afternoon and sometimes it’s more like two fifteen. And he quickly figures out that it’s because she doesn’t set an alarm before she sleeps. But coffee is the first, _first_ thing she needs when she wakes up – which, again, explains the sweatpants at that hour - _and sometimes these cute, denim shorts paired with some hastily pulled on military boots – but who’s keeping tabs, right?_  
  
He figures out that she’s definitely not a ‘morning person’, especially given that she’s asleep for most of those hours anyway. At first all he gets are short, mumbled greetings or sometimes not even that. Sometimes, it’s just a half-assed wave. But he quickly figures out that the key is to wait for her to get to the front of the line and grab her coffee before expecting any coherent sentences to come out of that pretty little mouth.  
  
It’s probably a week and a half of this, and he likes that even though he knows that _she_ knows he’ll be there every day, she still comes to the coffee shop in pretty much her bed hair and half the clothes she’d slept in.

He’s never been good at the romance thing. Knows that he hasn’t had the best track record especially when it comes to trusting people and letting them in. He thinks maybe it has something to do with how almost everyone he cares about ends up _dead,_ but that’s just an educated guess _._ So he tries not to let himself delve too deep on the way this girl intrigues him. They’ve had a grand total of about 7 hours of interaction during these past few weeks, and he thinks he wants to keep being around her just because she makes him…amused?  
  
Not laugh, because she hasn’t actually made him laugh – _no one makes him laugh_.  
  
But she doesn’t preen like other girls. She doesn’t ask for more than what he gives, and he likes that she makes him feel so _at ease._  
  
\--  
  
The first time they actually have their coffee together is the first time he decides to sit in one of the couches by another window with a newspaper. He hears the door creak open and slam shut; knows it’s her by the hazelnut and cherry blossoms that flood his nose. Her steps are lazy today – as they always are. He watches her in his mind’s eye as her footsteps walk straight up to the counter and pause before heading towards him.  
  
Before he can look up to greet her, she’s slumping into the space beside him and slipping her socked feet into his lap. Said feet knock the newspaper in his hand to the side as she wriggles and settles herself into the other corner of the couch, long, bare legs stretched out beside him and dressed in the denim shorts he totally hadn’t been eyeing a few days ago.

“So the first time I saw you here I told you to try smiling next time, remember?” She says.  
  
He’d like to say that she surprises him with the feet-in-his-lap move, but he actually didn’t expect any less from her. Doesn’t actually expect any less than her starting their conversation like they’d never stopped. He likes that she doesn’t seem like she’s expecting flowers and poetry. He’s not very good with words anyway. Instead, he shows her how welcome her company is by taking one of her socked feet into his hands and gently running his thumbs across the arch of her foot.  
  
“Ohhhh my gaaaahhhhhd, how did you know?” She drawls, head falling back over the arm of the couch, the hand holding her coffee slackening considerably.  
  
He smirks. Almost cracks a smile as he murmurs, “sixth sense or something.”  
  
All she does is sigh, watches him for a second as she quietly sips her coffee. His lips twitch as he notices her mismatched socks. _Of course they’re mismatched._ The right one is a myriad of rainbow stripes stretching up just past her ankle, and the left one is an ankle sock with a panda on it.  
  
“Seriously?” he gestures to her socks. “You can’t even pick same _sized_ socks? How old are you, twelve?” he teases.  
  
“I am seventeen _,_ thank you very much.” She retorts.  
  
He feels his heart stutter for a second, drops her feet and twists around to face her, dread lowering his voice. “Did you just say _seventeen?_ ”  
  
She holds his gaze for a second, expression all sober and serious. He thinks he’s about to have a mild heart attack when she finally cracks a smile and laughs at the look on his face.  
  
“I’m kidding, grumpy, I’m twenty-one.” She replies between giggles. “I can’t believe you fell for that shit. I do _not_ look seventeen. And dude, _Wolfsbane!_ Would I be seventeen if I worked there?!” She’s full on laughing now and his mouth turns down into a frown as he smacks the feet still in his lap.  
  
They sit silently for another minute and he turns a curious eye on her.  
  
“How’d you do that?”  
  
“What now?” She’s still trying to stifle her laughter.  
  
“Your heartbeat – I didn’t hear you lie.”  
  
She throws a lazy shrug at him. “Practice.”  
  
That’s all she gives him and he decides not to push her the way she doesn’t push him.  
  
They spend the rest of the afternoon in relative silence. She sips her coffee and reads a book she picks up from the café’s collection, and he alternates between browsing his newspaper and rubbing her feet. It’s the first time he’s been completely comfortable and relaxed in months. Every half hour or so, she asks him some random question, and he quickly figures out that if she’s curious about something, she’s not the type to beat around the bush about it.  
  
_Do_ **your** _socks match?_ Yes. _  
_

_What kind of coffee do you drink?_ Black. He likes the way her nose wrinkles at that.  
  
_How long have you been in New York?_ Not long. _  
_

_That jacket real leather?_ Yes! _  
  
How do you like your eggs? _ Scrambled. She smiles at this and gives him an approving nod.  
  
He doesn’t notice the afternoon pass by but when he looks at the time again it’s almost six o’clock and sort of dusky outside.  
  
“Last question,” she murmurs, peering up at him curiously, coffee long gone. He hears her heart stutter just a bit, but that’s all that tells him that she’s nervous. Everything else about her is at ease.  
  
“Shoot.” He murmurs back.  
  
“Eyes.” She’s looking right into his as she slowly says, “red, yellow…or blue?”  
  
He knows what she’s asking, wonders how she knows what blue means. This is the only wolf related question she’s mentioned all afternoon and he doesn’t know what makes him answer truthfully, but he lets himself fall right into it. His walls come down just a little, his guard eases just a bit.  
  
His voice doesn’t waver.  
  
“Blue.”  
  
He likes that her expression doesn’t change into judgement. Likes that she just nods at him and continues to hold his gaze.  
  
Then he hears her stomach growl like it’s dying and he almost lets out a laugh. His mouth stops at a small smirk as she covers her eyes in embarrassment and blushes.  
  
“Wanna know where the best burgers in town are?” And just like that the colour of his eyes becomes no big deal and he finds himself nodding at her easy invitation.

She shouldn’t be walking around by herself at night anyway.  
  
\--  
  
After dinner he walks her all the way back to her apartment.

It’s a cold evening and when notices her shiver a little he gives her his leather jacket. He doesn’t really mind that he ends up in just his t-shirt because werewolves burn hotter than humans by nature anyway.  
  
When they get to the bottom of her building, they both pause and look at each other in silence. She looks at him like she doesn’t quite know where to put him or how to categorise him. He stands with his hands in his pockets, waits for her cue. He doesn’t let his inexperience in these kinds of situations show, but doesn’t let himself look like an idiot either.

Finally, she lets out a small sigh, steps forward close enough that he can feel the heat from her body and gives the edge of his t-shirt a small tug and twist.  
  
He keeps his hands in his pockets but can’t help taking a deep breath of her scent. He has to tilt his head down to keep watching her when she’s this close, and he finds that he doesn’t really want her to go.  
  
“Thanks for the company, huh?” She looks up at him with a tiny smile.  
  
“Any time.” He replies.  
  
And just like that, her heat fades away as she steps back and ascends the steps to her apartment’s front door. He’s about to turn away when the sound of her voice makes him stop.  
  
“Der.”  
  
Nobody’s called him that in a very long time and he thinks he likes it. She’s holding out his jacket to him and their fingers brush as he takes it back.  
  
“I’ll see you around?” She adds softly.  
  
Derek flashes her a small smile and nods. _Definitely._    
  
\--  
  
It’s kind of…not even romantic. Derek doesn’t call it a relationship and Leslie laughs every time they do something even remotely close to resembling a date.  
  
They...don’t really hold hands. She wears his jacket sometimes, but she isn’t scared of serving him some pretty good punches when she’s teasing him – _werewolf whatever_.  
  
Cora doesn’t question the fact that he leaves the apartment almost every afternoon and doesn’t come back until late evening _(when Leslie has to get to work).  
  
_ He likes watching her scarf down popcorn and M&Ms while they’re watching some horror movie filled with blood and gore. She’s got the appetite of a growing pup, always eating – _rabbit food?! Fuck that! –_ Always challenging him on who can eat the most but never winning because, hey, he’s still a werewolf! Give him a little credit.  
  
He never sees her in matching socks and probably never will for as long as he has the pleasure of knowing her. But he does see her in sweatpants a lot. And a variety of skimpy little outfits on the nights that he decides to visit _Wolfsbane –_ because despite what he says the first time, he _does_ go back.  
  
Letting her sleep until noon becomes almost religion after the one time he tried calling her at 10am and she talked about _chasing trains, smelling trees and orange ponies_ before hanging up on him completely _.  
  
_ They teeter in this not-quite-relationship-sort-of-dating cloud for a while, both content to just enjoy each other’s company and get accustomed to each other. And he likes – that even though it’s not really a good idea – …that she’s starting to smell a little bit like _pack_.

\--  
  
They’ve been in each other’s company for about five months now, in their not-quite-relationship-sort-of-dating cloud. Derek’s beginning to suspect that she can actually read him better than he thinks she can. Pushing him just enough, but pulling back just when he thinks she’s getting too close. Slowly, he realises his walls are coming down one by one, and he doesn’t know when it happens, but one day he cracks a smile at something she says and actually huffs out a small laugh. They’re at the coffee shop, in pretty much the same position as the first time, and she’s looking at him with slight wonder in her eyes and a tiny smile.  
  
“What?” he asks, hands gripping her ankles.  
  
“There it is,” she singsongs softly.  
  
He looks down at her feet in his lap; pretends he doesn’t know what she’s talking about.  
  
“Der, it’s just me. I’m the one who told you to smile more, remember?” She murmurs as she wriggles her toes. She doesn’t make a move towards him, stays relaxed against the other side of the couch with a finger in between the pages of the book she’d been reading.  
  
He likes that she’s just waiting there. Waiting for him to get his head around what just happened and make the next move.  
  
Finally, he takes a small breath and grabs her toes with his fingers. “I’m not, good at… _all this_.”  
  
“Silly, grumpy.” She chastises softly. “You’re doing fine.”  
  
\--  
  
When they finally kiss, it’s in front of her apartment building, like the first time. His hands are in his pockets and he’s not really expecting anything more than the usual shirt tug/twist she usually gives him.  
  
But this time Leslie steps forward right into his space. Close enough that he can feel the rise and fall of her chest. She grabs the edge of his t-shirt between her fingers, rubs them a little before giving it her usual tug and twist. Then she looks right up at him and he’s already looking down at her. He tries not to fall into a pool of hazel. The hand not tugging his shirt comes up and rests softly on his hip, and it’s simple and it’s slow at the same time when she leans up on her toes – pauses for a second to let out a small breath – before planting a small, soft kiss on his lips. She feels like feathers and pillows and all kinds of soft.  
  
It’s quick, and before he knows it she’s pulling away, but not too far. And he’s leaning over her, head hanging low enough for her to be able to drop back down to her feet.  
  
He wants to take his hands out of his pockets and put them on her waist, but he also doesn’t want to push her. Wants to savour this feeling of starting something amazing without worrying about the ‘ _what ifs’.  
  
_ They stand outside her building for what feels longer than a few minutes. Her fingers are playfully tugging at the corner of his shirt again as they inhale each other’s breaths and just blink at each other.  
  
Finally she takes a step back and flashes him a small mischievous smile.  
  
“I’ll see you around?” She asks again, just like the first time.  
  
And Derek flashes her a small smile and nods.  
  
_Definitely._      
  
  
\--


End file.
